


Diciendo Adiós

by Upperstories



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Gen, adios mama coco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 05:36:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12952434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upperstories/pseuds/Upperstories
Summary: The funeral of Coco Rivera, matriarch and eldest living member of la Familia Rivera, was a simple affair.





	Diciendo Adiós

The funeral of Coco Rivera, matriarch and eldest living member of la Familia Rivera, was a simple affair. 

Death came in her sleep. The doctors would later diagnose that there were no physical ailments, no external or internal injury, not even a heart attack of a stroke. That it was merely, as cliche as it sounded, her time. 

The young Miguel Rivera was the one who discovered her body, dead. In the early hours of the morning, he'd claimed to be awoken by a stray Xolo, a rowdy raggamuffin referred to as Dante by the entire family. The dog’s incessant yapping had awoken the entire extended household, but Miguel had been the first to check on Mama Coco. The boy's face had been empty of expression when he told his papa and mama. He did not flinch when Coco’s remaining living daughter, Elena, ran to the bedroom and began to cry. 

Though the loss was great and the family began the long road of mourning, Miguel did not cry. 

Enrique, Gloria, and Berto-- Miguel’s father, uncle, and aunt, and Elena’s children-- were the ones who organized the funeral. Abuelita Elena helped however she could, but she had already lost her sister and her father. The death of her elderly mother was not unexpected, but the woman was only human. Papa Franco, Elena’s husband, held her when the grief became too great and made her weep. 

The Riveras knew this day was going to come. Mama Coco was only a few months shy of turning a century in age. It was rare that anyone, let alone a woman born at the tail end of La Revolución to be so long lived, to have such a full, prosperous life. And yet, in spite of decades of hardship and loss, Mama Coco’s life had been rich with years of hard work, support, and love. Her extended family was proud of that. 

But the Riveras had wished her life could have lasted just a little longer. 

The service had been in the middle of the day, the sweltering heat hanging over them in the stuffy, cramped church. Half of the town of Santa Cecilia had shown up, from extended family from out of town to families of long-time business partners. Even people that Miguel did not recognize showed up, though he suspected they were there more in reverence to the family’s history than simply for Coco herself. He recognized a couple tour guides from City Hall, ones who had been so devastated by Mama Coco’s stories of Papa Hector and the loss of music in the elderly woman’s life, and enchanted when her great grandson brought it all back to her. 

Each of Coco’s grandchildren gave their eulogies, first Tio Berto, then Tia Gloria, then Enrique. Elena followed shortly after, Papa Franco holding her hand as she stumbled and grit her teeth through her speech. Miguel’s mama, Luisa, held his hand through the speeches. He felt her hand shake and he gripped it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

Though he could hear his older cousins-- Abel and Prima Rosa-- sniffling behind him, and his Abuelita’s voice warbled like an old church bell as she spoke. Even as he felt his shoulders tighten and his chest ache, even as it slowly dawned on him how he would no longer hear stories from Mama Coco, how the mantle of holding onto his ancestor’s stories was passed down to him and his family. Even then, Miguel did not cry. 

The service went long into the evening. Dozens of musicians had shown up to play music at the procession, at Mama Coco’s request. Miguel let the music wash over him as he walked alongside his mama and papa, trying to keep his head up and his chest out. At some point, without realizing it, the family had made it to the cemetery, all too soon. Miguel’s chest tightened as he watched his father, uncles, and their friends lowered Mama Coco’s coffin into the earth, the casket decorated with engravings that achingly reminded Miguel of oh-so-familiar carvings he’d once seen on an old skull. 

Before anyone could say anything, Miguel asked his father if he could borrow one of the musician’s guitars. He’d forgotten Papa Hector’s guitar at home, kept safely displayed next to Mama Coco’s bedside, but wished to play her a song. One last bedtime song, from her family. 

Enrique allowed it without a second’s argument, and in the view of many family and friends, Miguel began to play Hector Rivera’s gift to Coco. 

At one point, Miguel realized the world began to blur around him, that his voice began to wain and his throat hurt so badly that he could no longer sing. 

It had been a long week of mourning, planning, waiting, fixing, preparing, and readying for this very moment. Of preparing to say goodbye to a lifetime of heritage. Miguel had not shed a single tear for the loss, telling himself over and over again that he had no right to be sad. That his time with Mama Coco had come to an end. That it was time for her to be reunited with those who had missed her so very dearly

No, no no no, he didn’t want to cry. 

Not when he knew, Not When He Knew that Coco was going to a better place. To be with her long gone mama and papa, to be hugged and loved for the rest of an eternity, so long as they were remembered. Not when he knew he’d see her again, when he too passed away from old age (with any luck). He didn’t want to let this goodbye be marred with tears, not when he knew better. Not when he couldn’t tell anyone that he knew. 

The other Riveras helped Miguel finish the song when he could not, Luisa grasping Miguel’s tense shoulders, Enrique looking to the sky to hide his own tears. When the song finished, Luisa pulled Miguel into a hug and let him sob into her shoulder. 

The rest happened in a slow blur. After the coffin was buried, one-by-one the guests left flowers or offerings at Coco’s grave and left in solemn silence. None of the musicians had the nerve to play a song after Miguel’s attempted solo, simply bowing their heads and taking their hats off in respect for the little musician. Soon all that remained were Miguel and the other living Riveras, the souls of their hand-crafted shoes rooting them in place. 

“You did very well, mijo,” said Enrique, voice still rough from the song. 

“I tried,” Miguel said, glued to his mama’s side. 

“It was beautiful,” the normally gruff Tio Berto added, patting Miguel’s head. 

“She would have been very proud of you,” said Gloria, trying to wipe her face and avoid smearing her make up any further. 

“And we are proud of you too,” said Abuelita, her face the reddest and puffiest of them all. 

“I know,” said Miguel, and he meant it. 

They all stood in silence for what felt like a century. The sun was starting to set by the time Elena and Franco began their trek home, followed by Berto’s family and Gloria not too far behind. Enrique and Luisa stood with their son between them, the three staring at the grave in heavy silence. 

“It is getting late, mijito,” said Luisa. 

The world cast in reds and purples as witching hour slowly fell upon them. Miguel thought back to the dazzling colors of the Land of the Dead, wondering if his family on the Other Side were watching the same sunset as he was. 

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Miguel caught a speck of gold. Several small specks, cascading and swirling petals. The cempaspuchitl petals seemed to twinkle in the growing twilight. It was then, as if for the first time, he realized that Dante was standing not too far off from the graveyard, smiling and panting in that way he always did, his head leaning heavily into an empty space as if he were being pet by something unseeable. 

“I want to stay a little longer,” said Miguel, the neck of the borrowed guitar clutched tightly in his hand.

“Miguel,” Enrique scolded, though his voice was soft. “It is getting late--”

“Please,” was all Miguel said, his voice growing tight once more. “I promise I won’t be out long. Please.”

Enrique and Luisa shared a forlorn glance, but relented without further argument, leaving their son with loving hugs and kisses on his crown. 

And so Miguel Rivera stood alone in the graveyard, staring off into the middle distance. 

For the longest time, he simply stared at nothing. Not the grave, not the cemetery, not even the sky or the earth or the world around him. He simply stared at the empty space next to Dante, praying, urging his eyes to see the frame of a small, stood, frail skeleton standing next to his beloved perro and alebrije. 

“Mama Coco?” Miguel asked.

Dante stumbled and tumbled to the side, as if the invisible support his head had been leaning on had shift without warning, only to pop back up, smiling and panting. Miguel swore he saw Dante’s smile widened when he noticed the boy was still there. The Xolo barked, tail wagging in endless amusement. 

Miguel’s heart leapt when he saw more petals dance around the cemetery. 

And so, before he could think to wipe his eyes of fresh tears, his hand raised, as if on its own, and the young Rivera began to play. 

At first it was just songs he knew by heart, from years of privately practicing in the attic, watching and learning from ancient black and white films. He found no strength to sing, but simply played the guitar, slowly and softly at first but growing faster and louder. 

Before he knew it, he was riffing off completely ad libbed chords, smiling so hard it made his face hurt. It was a happy, gregarious melody that he didn’t quite know how to finish, so he simply kept playing, waiting to see where it took him. 

The more he played, the more he saw, and the lighter his heart felt. What was once heavy, sonorous ballad had become something that made his heart soar. Memories weighted in loss gave way to new hope, hope that reminded Miguel of all the joy that waited his beloved great grandmother on the Other Side, and he held onto them with a proud heart. 

He still could not see the spirit of his late Mama Coco, but his heart supplanted his sight with a bridge of cascading petals, thoughts of Coco crossing it, of returning to her family, of going home. So overcome with joy, Miguel let out the biggest grito he could, and with that joy filling him, he finally found the right note to end on.

All too soon, the song was over, the petals blown away, and the glow of Coco’s spirit passed over, leaving Miguel with a faint warmth that ceased to leave him. 

Out of breath, Miguel could only laugh and wipe his face. He felt so light, like he could cross an entire desert in a single bound. He felt a warm weight lean against his side, and he patted Dante as he licked Miguel’s hand. 

“Did she make it?” Miguel asked. Dante could only bark, but the boy was happy with the answer, regardless. “Good.”

And once again, Miguel raised his gaze to the far off distance, seeing nothing. The Land of the Dead was still far too out of reach for him to grasp, but he was not willing to let go of the warmth of the goodbye just yet. 

Despite knowing he looked ridiculous, Miguel waved in the direction he thought the petal bridge went. He knew that, even if his ancestors could see the Land of the Living at this time of year, there was no way they could see him from so far away. They probably weren’t even standing on the bridge, but waiting in the Department of Family Reunions, crowded around Coco in a big embrace, Coco and Hector at the very center of it. 

Miguel laughed at the thought, and finally began the long walk home, Dante trotting merrily at his side. 

“Give her a hug from me, Hector,” Miguel said quietly to the night sky wishing his ancestors the best night of their afterlives.

**Author's Note:**

> Been wanting to write this out since seeing the movie for the first time. Might plan on writing a second part to this later on from the perspective of the Land of the Dead, when I stop crying over what I just wrote. 
> 
> Adiós, Mama Coco.


End file.
